Belong to Me
by Zane's Girl- Jo
Summary: The piano sat in the classroom, abandoned & gathering dust. Slowly, young, supple hands began to dance over the keys, bringing to life a sound that had not been heard in years. Pre-TMI.


**Belong to Me**

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

**Summary: The piano sat in the classroom, abandoned and gathering dust. Slowly, young, supple hands began to dance over the keys, bringing to life a sound that had not been heard in years. Soon, the gorgeous, breath-taking soprano followed, attracting those passing through the halls. For the first time, they saw her not as the mother of one of their classmates, but as a performer, through a professional's eyes. Pre-TMI.**

She was there to pick up her daughter; an optomitrist appointment awaited the freshman, and her mother taken the day off while her husband was at work. She kept reminding herself that it was just one day, that she could make up for it tomorrow. However, as she waited in the office for the bell to ring for lunch, she grew restless, and told the secretary that she was going for a quick walk, and that she'd meet her daughter at the office when the lunch bell rang.

Slowly, she walked down the halls, relishing the silence.

Normally, the LaGuardia High School of the Performing Arts was buzzing with noise, but the students were in class, so the woman had time to herself. She passed by classrooms filled with students, dance studios and music rooms. As she continued down the hall, she passed a door that was slightly ajar and backtracked, something having caught her eye. Slowly, she pushed the door open farther.

Quietly, she slipped inside.

The piano sat in the classroom, abandoned and gathering dust.

She looked around quickly, her pulse quickening with the thrill of trespassing and the possibility of being caught. She wasn't a student, she was a parent. With a degree in Musical Theater, the same type of degree these students were working towards. So what if she got caught? She'd just say that she took a wrong turn.

And exactly_ how_ did she end up at the piano? She'd have to think on that one.

The piano was beautiful, an old cherry wood baby grand. The keys were a crisp, pure white, even under a layer of dust, and the black keys were as dark as her own raven hair, the color of onyx. She gently, settled on the piano bench, and slowly, quietly, pressed down on a few of the keys, before jumping. It was badly in need of a tuning. Quickly, effortlessly, she tuned it, before returning to the bench.

Then, she softly plucked out a simple tune, a warm up.

Slowly, young, supple hands began to dance over the keys, bringing to life a sound that had not been heard in years. It was the beginning of a tune she had sung several times over the last summer, a tune that defined who she was, who she was becoming, who she had been. It was a tune that had defined her years as an outcast, a loner, someone with a gift that had never shown it, for fear of ridicule. It was a tune she stuck by, a tune with lyrics that shaped her being; shaped her daughter's being.

Soon, the gorgeous, breath-taking soprano followed, attracting those passing through the halls. The bell announcing lunch had rung, but she was too caught up in the music to pay attention, her daughter's optomitrist appointment forgotten as she became entwined in the music.

_"Sometimes I wonder  
Where I've been  
Who I am, do I fit in?  
Make-believing is hard alone  
Out here, on my own"_

Students and teachers alike, passed by the classroom, and each stopped to backtrack. They gathered around the half-open door, listening to the beautiful soprano bringing the old piano to life. Softly, the door opened wider, and they pressed together, each trying to get a glimpse of the singer. She, of course, was oblivious.

_"We're always proving  
Who we are  
Always reaching  
For that rising star  
To guide me far  
And shine me home  
Out here on my own_

_When I'm down and feeling blue  
I close my eyes so I can be with you  
Oh, baby, be strong for me  
Baby, belong to me  
Help me through  
Help me need you"_

For the first time, they saw her not as the mother of one of their classmates, but as a performer, through a professional's eyes.

Quietly, one of their number gently pushed through the crowd, stopping at the front. She listened, as enthralled as her classmates, and her eyes closed, as she listened to her mother's voice. It was beautiful. This was the voice that had sung her to sleep as a baby, the voice her father heard, the voice that entranced audiences every night.

Except.... she sang with abandon. While she controlled herself during shows, this show, this.... private performance.... was something else, something different. It took a moment, but she soon realized what it was.

Raw.

It was raw, exposed, uncontrollable, unprotected. It was in danger of critique, of hate, denial, jealousy. It was rebellious.

Wild.

Free.

Untamed.

_"Until the morning sun appears  
Making light of all my fears  
I dry the tears I've never shown  
out here on my own"_

Her eyes were closed, her voice strong, her demeanor professional. This was no amatuer. No child at play. She wasn't a teenager working towards a degree, trying to find her talent, her place in a world like this.

She had her place.

It was a place of bright lights and eight shows a week. Of professional dances and legendary compositions. Of curtain calls and Tony Awards, cast parties and acceptance speeches.

She belonged to royalty.

Broadway royalty.

_"But when I'm down and feeling blue  
I close my eyes so I can be with you  
Oh, baby, be strong for me  
Baby, belong to me  
Help me through__  
Help me need you"_

She lived in a world, first and foremost, of talent. Performing. Professionalism.

"A real artist must never be afraid of what other people are going to say about him." As Dee always said, quoting the epic 1980 film _Fame_.

She understood. This profession was hard, cut throat, something these kids were unprepared for. It was the hardest profession on earth. A thick skin was needed, because, in the words of Coco, "It wasn't all gonna be standing ovations." The kids needed to understand that. She doubted if any of them actually _did_.

And that included her own daughter.

The child was full of beautiful fantasies and wild dreams. She was the mirror image of her mother, and had a voice like her mother's as well. Her favorite film was the 1980 version of _Fame_, and this was her favorite song. She had never heard her mother sing it though, and noted the hint of sadness gracing her mother's beautiful voice. She gave the song the struggle that came with the life of an artist, and made it the beautiful reality it really was.

_"Sometimes I wonder  
Where I've been  
Who I am, do I fit in?  
I may not win  
But I can't be thrown  
Out here on my own  
On my own"_

So swept up in the music, she didn't hear the applause until the last note faded from her lips. Quickly, she turned, her beautiful pearl cheeks flushing rose. It was when one of the teachers came forward that she paled. Instead of being scolded, however, she was praised.

"That was beautiful, Mrs. Tipton. We've been considering getting rid of that piano, but you proved that it still has life in it."

"Thank you." Came the whispered reply.

As the students and teachers dispersed, one stayed behind.

"Mama?"

Ela turned, to see her daughter in the doorway.

"Laney."

"You never sing like that at home."

She sighed, and reached out for her, the freshman rushed to her mother, throwing herself into her mother's warm embrace.

"I'm sorry sweetheart. I'll try to more often. I promise."

"Mama?" Her daughter's voice was muffled by the material of her mother's shirt, as she rested her head on her mother's breast, the beating of her heart in her ear.

"Hmm?"

"You were sad when you sang that song. I thought it was supposed to be strong." Slowly, Laney looked up at her mother, and gently, Elphaba brushed a strand of hair from her daughter's cheek.

"Different people find strength in different ways. I draw my strength from sadness. Sadness and you."

"Me?" Laney asked, as Ela cupped her daughter's face in her hands. Ela nodded.

"Yes."

"How?"

Ela licked her lips, meeting her daughter's eyes.

"You.."

She thought a moment, taking a deep breath and lifting her head.

"You belong to me."


End file.
